


Three Final Celebrations Plus One First

by kitkatkaylie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A little bit of angst, F/F, F/M, Flirting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sweet Moments, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29460153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie
Summary: A war camp in the Riverlands, Castle Black, the Red Keep, and Winterfell.Four couples celebrate the Year’s End Festival together, three for the final time and one for the first.
Relationships: Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell, Satin Flowers/Jon Snow, Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19
Collections: Wintersend 2020 & 2021





	Three Final Celebrations Plus One First

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alphabetloop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphabetloop/gifts).



**One**

It was difficult to be festive in a War Camp, difficult to celebrate anything but the last victory and hope to live long enough to celebrate the next.

The mud and muck, the scent of unwashed men and shit. It did not naturally lend itself to a feeling of joy and merriment, and yet that feeling pervaded nonetheless.

Humming could often be heard, and men from the Riverlands teaching Northerners their songs of celebration and vice versa. It was a sweet sound, so very different from the crude shouts that oft filled the air.

It was the Year’s End Festival, one that everyone in Westeros, rich or poor, celebrated.

The last one that Robb had celebrated had been with his siblings, his whole family together, eating and sharing fun and laughter. Mother and father had set aside their responsibilities for the day, joining them all in the family solar for games and songs. Even Jon and Theon had been involved in the festivities for the day, not excluded like they had sometimes been.

It was one of the memories that carried Robb through the hard times. One he clung to after battle, or when he heard news of what was happening in Kings Landing, or when he thought of the sheer number of men who had died.

Their plans for the day itself were very different to the last Year’s End Festival, a gathering of the lords in which they tried to make the best of battlefield rations and terrible ale. A far cry from the carefully constructed meal that contained all their favourite foods which Mother normally planned months in advance.

Mother even had trout brought in for herself, and a special goat cheese brought from the Vale for Father, and shellfish transported all the way from White Harbour for Theon. It was a time for utter indulgence and pleasure, and Robb was sad to miss it.

A tiny part of himself wondered what his siblings were doing, how Jon was celebrating at the Wall, how Sansa and Arya were coping in Kings Landing, how Bran and Rickon were doing in Winterfell. But he tried not to dwell upon it, thoughts of his siblings might power him through battle, but if he spent too long on them then he found his mind going to a dark place. 

He would be sad to miss one tradition in particular though, the way that every year Theon had pressed a kiss to his cheek, at first, and then his lips once he grew old enough to understand the message therein. Theon had loved Robb from childhood, and Robb loved Theon in the same way, it did not feel like it was just before King Robert’s visit that they had confessed as such though, it felt like they had been together far longer than that.

They had to snatch precious moments together, precious moments of privacy and joy, and it was even more difficult to do so in a war camp than it had been in Winterfell.

To that end Theon oft snuck into Robb’s tent, for his was the larger of their tents, and had Grey Wind to warn them if anyone approached. Besides, people panicked if Robb was not easily found, and they would prefer not to cause such trouble again. 

Theon looked up at the roof of the tent and grinned, “Mistletoe, Stark? How very canny of you.”

Robb blushed, he had forgotten about the mistletoe he had attached to the ceiling, he’d found it upon a walk through the nearby woodland with Grey Wind, and had desperately wanted a smidgeon of home. It was one of his sweetest memories, his mother and father looking so very much in love at each other as they kissed beneath the mistletoe.

“I- I-“ He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck ruefully, “I just wanted a bit of normalcy.”

Theon’s face softened, and one of his hands reached out to caress Robb’s cheek.

“That is disgustingly sweet of you Stark. What is it you are supposed to do beneath the poisonous weed again? I do get so confused about your strange Northern traditions.”

Robb knew he was mocking him, he had a glint in his eyes that told him so. It did not stop Robb from calling his bluff however, stepping closer and placing a hand of his own upon Theon’s.

“You do not recall?” He murmured, “Let me remind you.”

He could hear Theon’s sharp intake of breath, and grinned to himself as he pressed a kiss to Theon’s lips. 

It was not often that he could startle Theon to speechlessness, and it was so nice to have done it in such an enjoyable way. 

* * *

  
**Two**

The Wall was a melting pot of cultures, with men from all over Westeros living on top of each other with their own traditions and cultures.

Never was this more obvious than when there was a festival celebrated by everyone in Westeros, when the traditions clashed and actual fights broke out over the correct way to celebrate.

Jon had missed the Mid Year Celebration, he had been Beyond The Wall with the Free Folk, he hadn’t seen the arguments and fist fights that had broken out, nor would it have been his responsibility to deal with it as it was now.

There were definite downsides to the position of Lord Commander - other than the mountains of paperwork; the awareness of the struggle to gain supplies; the attempts of political powers and monarchs to break the neutrality of the Watch; and the awareness of the ever encroaching apocalypse led by the Others - and breaking up multiple fights every day over something as trivial as the correct way to celebrate the Year’s End Festival. 

The sheepish knock on his door had him sighing, aware that it meant yet more perpetrators had been sent his way to be scolded and assigned extra duties by another Brother.

“Enter.” He called out, hearing the weariness in his own voice, “And tell me what it was over this time.”

He waited until their footsteps had stopped before his desk before he looked up, and when he did he blinked heavily in shock.

“Satin?”

His steward smiled sheepishly at him, a black bruise beginning to form around his eye and a split lip that still dripped blood. 

“Lord Commander.” Satin sounded just as sheepish as he looked. As did the brother with a broken nose, one of the rangers if Jon was not mistaken, that stood next to him.

Jon sighed heavily, “What happened? Why were you sent to me - other than the obvious of course?”

Satin and the ranger started to speak at once, their voices overlapping into a cacophony that Jon could not make heads nor tails of.

Jon held up a hand and cut them off, just as a headache started to pound behind his temples, “One at a time please. Satin, you go first.”

He would admit that at least part of his choice for the first story was in hope that Satin would name the ranger, and thus prevent Jon from the embarrassment of admitting he did not know it. The other was sheer curiosity, for it was not often that Satin was provoked into violence, he still much preferred to placate his adversaries or try and charm his way out of any conflict.

“He deserved it.” Satin defended himself straight out of the gate, “I was going to the laundry to fetch your clean bed linens when Alyn pushed me against a wall and started making lewd insinuations of what he was going to do to me. He claimed it was a tradition in his homeland, to fuck a whore to see the new year in, and that I was the next best thing.”

Jon saw red. He wanted nothing more than to sentence Alyn to a flogging, to have him made an example of, to make him regret ever even looking at Satin. 

But he could not.

Not when he had not even heard Alyn’s side of the story. Not when he was supposed to be impartial, and he had not treated any of the other brawlers in such a way. 

“Alyn?” Jon turned to meet his eyes, “Is Satin’s recount accurate?”

Alyn spat on the floor, “Aye. The little whore is the closest thing we have here to a proper one, and he should be grateful for the attention. I don’t know why he attacked me, he should be used to pleasing a paying customer, I was only trying to relieve his homesickness.”

He leered at Satin, and Jon felt the urge to break his nose again, or perhaps knock out a tooth or two.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to speak in a measured tone.

“And were you a paying customer? Did you agree a price before hand, did you allow Satin the option of refusing work, or did you try and force him?”

Alyn gaped, as though he had not thought Jon would ask such a question when formulating his defence. 

“Well, no- I- I did not- The little bitch should be grateful!”

“If you did not, then Alyn, I am afraid that Satin was in the right to break your nose. I am sure you would do the same if you were assaulted and groped.” Jon spoke in the too reasonable tone he remembered had used to drive Arya insane, it was strange to utilise it in such a way, and yet it had the desired effect.

Alyn’s face went purple with rage, and his fist clenched as he took a step closer to Jon’s desk.

Jon raised an eyebrow, and took a moment of pleasure at the panic that flashed across Alyn’s face at the realisation he had nearly assaulted the Lord Commander.

“Now, you know that fighting is not permitted between brothers, just as you should know that rape is an offence punishable by flogging.” Jon met both their eyes in turn, “Luckily it appears that you have escaped a flogging this time Alyn, seeing as Satin here did not allow you to touch him. Both of you will have the night shift for the next two weeks. Alyn, you will also be on scullery duty as well, let’s see if time scrubbing pans will help you remember the meaning of consent. You are dismissed.”

“Your favouritism will get you killed one day, Snow.” Alyn sneered, “Mark my words.”

“You are  _ dismissed, _ ” Jon reiterated, “And you would do well to remember your manners, Alyn, lest you wish your time on the night shift to be extended,”

Alyn sneered again and stormed out of the room, making sure to slam the door as he left. Undoubtedly he would be finding his friends to complain about Jon, but Jon did not care. It was not like he could do anything with his complaints.

Satin ignored the dismissal, just like Jon knew he would.

“You can just stab them you know.” He said, standing and moving around his desk to face Satin properly, “It might scare them off for longer than just breaking their noses.”

Satin sidled closer, “But Lord Commander, how could I make you punish me for that?” He slung his arms around Jon’s neck, and pressed his front against Jon’s, “Stabbing someone would make me a very naughty boy.”

Jon laughed and pressed a kiss to Satin’s lips, “You are incorrigible, you know. Utterly and maddeningly incorrigible.”

Satin smiled sweetly and batted his eyelashes, “I do try.”

* * *

  
**Three**

Sansa wanted to cry at the thought of celebrating the Year’s End Festival without her family. She wallowed in thoughts of what they were doing, of the traditions that she would not be able to complete, and the sweet memories of years gone past.

She knew she had to attend the grand ball that Joffrey was throwing in celebration, to watch as food that could have fed half the city was picked over and thrown away without a second thought. She would have to smile, and be gracious, and dress in a way that pleases the king, for otherwise she would invite his displeasure.

Sansa did not want to start the new year with another beating.

She escaped to the godswood, that one place she could be alone. It may have been bereft of a heart tree, may have been filled with flowers instead of the hot pools, but it was still the closest to home that she had.

Sansa allowed herself to weep for a few moments over the roots of the oak, the same oak where she had spent a night praying for Bran, curled up in her father’s arms.

A high laugh had her jolted from her tears, and attempting to dry them rapidly upon the sleeve of her gown. 

“My lady!” A sweet voice called out, “Are you perchance looking for company?”

Sansa forced herself to smile, “If you are offering it, Lady Margaery.”

Margaery waved off her companions and approached Sansa properly, settling herself down on the grass next to her.

“Are you quite well, Sansa?”

Sansa smiled again, although it felt more a grimace.

“I am. I was just… reflecting on where I was last year.”

Margaery’s face creased with concern, “I can leave you in peace if you wish? I would not want to burden you with my company.”

“No, it- it will be nice to be distracted. Tell me, how do you celebrate in the Reach?”

“In the Reach, dear one, as the last of the sunlight fades and the first stars appear, we make a wish.” Margaery cupped Sansa’s hands to her heart, “We wish for the thing that we most dearly want in the coming year, whether that be love or a babe, or to see family again.”

Her voice went whisper soft on the last words, and her eyes filled with the sweetest sort of kindness. “I would have you complete this tradition with me, sweet girl, for I cannot think of someone I would rather spend the last moments of the year with.” 

A delicate warmth bloomed in Sansa’s heart, one that made her duck her head in the hope that Margaery would not see the red she knew covered her cheeks.

“I would like that very much.” Sansa whispered back, “It will be nice to not spend the day alone while others celebrate. Even if I am required to attend the King’s Ball.”

“I am glad. As for the ball, well, I shall arrange for Garlan and Loras to dance with you.” Margaery said, “They shall keep away those men that leer and use it as an excuse to grope you. They will do it for me, and the happiness that it will give me to see you enjoy yourself for at least a brief moment.” 

It was a kindness that Sansa had not expected, she had already resigned herself to having to dance with those who saw her as a piece of meat. The ones who used it as an excuse to push the boundaries of propriety. 

She would have to dance with Joffrey, of course, for he would not give up the chance to torment her so easily, but to know she would have the chance to dance with men as kind and handsome as Ser Garlan and Ser Loras would help her to endure it.

“Thank you.” She whispered once more, finding that she could not speak any louder. 

It did not matter though; not when Margaery lifted a hand to cradle her cheek so gently and take the opportunity to press the faintest of kisses to her lips. It was a kiss that any passing courtier or servant would believe to be friendly, sisterly even, yet Sansa knew better. It was the promise of more to come, the promise of happiness and dreams that could perhaps one day be reached.

“I do not know what I have done to deserve your kindness,” Sansa whispered once they had parted, “Nor how I shall ever repay it.”

Margaery’s eyes filled with sadness, “You need not repay my kindness, kindness should not need repayment. I wish I had had the chance to meet the Sansa Stark who had known that.”

Sansa felt a tear well up, “That Sansa Stark died with her father. I like to think you and I would have been friends even had all this not happened, perhaps in another universe or lifetime it did.”

“Perhaps.” A tear fell down Margaery’s own cheek, “I do hope that your belief in the good of people returns though, when you are in Highgarden. I do hope that my brother is able to help you with it.”

“So do I.”

They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment more, before their attention was caught by the sun starting to set over the Blackwater.

They should have gone inside and already be preparing for the ball. They should have been worrying about their hair, and their gowns, and the people who were undoubtedly looking for them. But they did not care, to them the setting sun was far more important.

Margaery’s hand slipped into hers, her fingers cool and slender and comforting. They stared out over the Blackwater together, watching the sunset and content with the silence. 

The last light of the day slipped over the horizon, bathing the Blackwater in shades of red and orange. The firsts stars started to shine, bright and familiar for all they were in slightly different places to home.

Sansa focused hard upon the Guiding Star, the one which would lead her north and home to Winterfell if she had but the means to follow it.

And with all her heart she wished for the chance to see her family again, to hold them in her arms and tell them that she loved them. 

Perhaps if she was very lucky it might come true.

Perhaps.

* * *

  
**Plus One**

Catelyn was unsure what to expect of the Year’s End Festival, the North was so very different to everything else she had ever known. She doubted that Winterfell would celebrate it the way she and her family had in Riverrun, with everyone swimming in the rivers around their home before picnicking on the grass still in their damp clothes. 

Lysa had always shrieked about the cold of the waters, but that had never stopped her from dunking Catelyn, nor had it stopped her from chasing Edmure into the water so she could braid flowers into his hair. 

It was too cold to do such a thing in Winterfell, and besides, there were no rivers close enough or large enough to enable everyone to swim. There were only the hot pools in the Godswood, pools which Catelyn did not fancy swimming in while snow lay upon the ground.

She supposed her husband would have his own traditions, traditions he would be eager to pass on to their son and his bastard. Traditions that Catelyn herself was interested to learn. She was a Lady of The North now, and it was important that she knew how they celebrated so she did not accidentally cause offence. 

She knew that her husband would be in the nursery, leaning over Robb’s cradle, and watching their son with awe in his eyes. He doted upon both the babes, clearly ecstatic with fatherhood. Sometimes it seemed as though her husband had been made for fatherhood, 

“My Lord.” Catelyn bobbed her head to him as she entered the room, and found him sat in the rocking chair with both babes perched atop his lap.

“My Lady.” Eddard nodded his head back, “Are you quite well?”

“I am. I- I merely wanted to ask about the Year’s End Festival. How- what should you like me to prepare?”

Eddard’s face creased, “I am not sure, my lady, it has been some time since I celebrated with my family.” 

Catelyn had quite forgotten that Eddard had been away from Winterfell for so long, he had fitted so seamlessly back into the household while she still floundered around, feeling much a fish out of water.

“Well, what do you recall of your family’s traditions from before your fostering?” She gently enquired.

Eddard looked down at the babes in his lap, “Lyanna and Benjen always used to wake us early, they were so eager to begin the day where they knew we would have Mother and Father’s undivided attentions. They did not want to miss a single moment of time together, not when it was so rare for Father to leave his study.” He ran a finger over the bastard’s cheek, “Lyanna was always the most excited, she knew that Brandon would indulge her every whim on those days.”

“That sounds nice.” Catelyn was entirely truthful, “Edmure was often the same, he was so excited for the chance of a day with no lessons and making mud pies.”

“Mud pies?”

“Mud pies. We would go down to the river for the day, taking a picnic with us and playing in the river and the mud of its banks. It was always finished with a competition between my siblings and I as to who could make the best mud pie.”

“That sounds like fun.” Eddard looked up from the babe to meet her eyes, “Like a lovely tradition.”

“Perhaps- perhaps we could combine our traditions.” Catelyn suggested tentatively, “Make something new.”

Eddard looked up at her, his eyes crinkled in the corners with what she was starting to realise was his smile, “That sounds delightful, my lady.”

“Cat.” Catelyn smiled back, as she took Robb from his arms, “Call me Cat.”

The crinkles around Eddard’s eyes deepened, “Then I am Ned.”

For the first time since they met Catelyn felt the first stirrings of love in her heart. Maybe, just maybe, her marriage would work. Maybe her husband would come to love her, and maybe she would love him in return.

She did not want a marriage from the songs, but one from the stories her mother used to tell her. One where the husband and wife honour and love one another. 

And perhaps she was lucky enough to have been granted that. 


End file.
